The World's a Stage
by Enchantress Nova
Summary: Grell, due to so many pay cuts, has to moonlight as a performer despite the rules against second jobs. Will he be able to keep this a secret? or will Grell be subjected to even more punishment? Grell x William Yaoi, rating may go up.
1. Introduction

_A/N: This is my first Kuroshitsuji/Black Butler fanfiction. Songs and performances will be referred to and I will note appropriately. As this is the introduction this is just a small preview of things to come and not much happens. Also I apologise if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes, I am dyslexic but hopefully I haven't done too bad._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Kuroshitsuji or any of its characters._

_Summary: Grell, due to so many pay cuts, has to moonlight as a performer despite the rules against second jobs. Will he be able to keep this a secret? or will Grell be subjected to even more punishment? Grell x William Yaoi._

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><p><span>Introduction<span>

By Enchantress Nova

Such a place, ever screaming and singing with underground talents from fire eaters to acrobats, was home to the most wonderfully strange and grotesquely beautiful people in Europe. What these people could do challenged the norm and brought life to the dreary days of Londoners, enchanting the grey masses and enthralling their senses with all the flavour and colour the world could provide.

The stage was set, the lights were on and the audience expecting. There had been much talk of a talented singer here, able to hit any note, any time, any place...any position. Flexible, gorgeous and with the voice of the Heavens, this 'Ophelia' was the star of the stage in trousers or a dress. The name a tragic one, taken from Shakespeare's Hamlet to express a part of his or herself still hidden.

Tonight there he stood, real identity unknown to the public, in a pair of tight and sleek black trousers and matching heeled boots, but a white blouse long and with a train reaching past his knees, a large black and red bow tightening the blouse around the brunette's tiny, and envy stirring, waist with matching ribbons tying back the sinfully silky locks into a ponytail and around his elegant, pale neck. Truly a vision.

Nobody knew if Ophelia was male or female, nobody cared to be honest. One might have thought it discerning of a man to wear a dress or a woman to wear trousers, but this was theatre, everyone was game to see such a farce in Pantomimes and the practice was very much encouraged during Shakespeare's reign over the stages.

Silence enveloped the room at this individual's presence, impatience and anxiety tugging at the stomach of everyone. Ophelia was wearing trousers: bring on that low sounding angel to shake apart the very fibres of men. Breath stuck in the chest, mouths dry and hands tense, the star of tonight and every night standing strong yet dainty as the stage lights made the milky white skin shine and glow deliciously. Was there anything to mar this creature? Even the shark like teeth made him seem fierce and sharp to combat the smooth curves and soft skin, beautiful yet deadly and there is nothing more desirable in this world.

People snapped back to life, blinking and remembering to breathe as they were caught in the performer's gaze; the two tone green yellowish eyes shown bright past those dark and long eye lashes, and even seemed fluorescent stealing men's gallantry and women's senses of chastity. Those eyes seemed to promise death on a train ride of lust, love, madness and fury; they held something godly and unfathomable to the lowly sad looking public and pulled shame from their hearts and made them taste it...and they loved it.

Golden emerald eyes looked across the room, the adoring masses packed and scuffling waiting for the first note of tonight's song. The brunette took in a breath, the light twinkling over the perfectly sharp and shimmering teeth reminding them of sirens beautiful, singing and teasing you to the depths of the sea as you knew all along those teeth would be tearing at your flesh, ripping you apart and devouring your innards.

Enough of the tension - time to sing.

The first low note tore through the air, sounding through every bone and cell it echoed and rang, stripping people of thoughts outside on the performance hall, their own heart beats sneaking up on them as they were claimed by the beauty's voice.

"_Questo profumo di gardenia _

_Fa incantare anche il sole. _

_Mi scordo di tutto _

_E mi unisco con lui, _

_Questo profumo è l'anima mia. _

_La mia viaggiatrice, gardenia..."_

People were taken, their bodies hot and electric and their minds phased and foggy, afraid to make noises in case the temperamental young performer would stop and they would be left tortured by unfinished pleasure. Senses flashed on high alert as the notes became stronger and braver, tickling the skin and grasping torsos roughly immersing themselves in the song.

_Sei un fiore triste _

_Che sboccia nell' isola disabitata _

_Il tuo odore è come il mio sogno. _

_Gardenia, sei bella ed onesta _

_E mi dai il magico splendore. _

Women felt their flesh tingle and flush, a familiar explosion of want making their knees press together in feigned innocence as the singer shook their very cores. The desire for freedom, that feeling of letting down one's hair legs exposed to the night air. This 'Ophelia' stripped them of barriers and walls, if only for a few minutes, that voice so raw and unsheathed clawing apart the restraints of corset bones and petticoat stitching.

_La dolcissima sembianza _

_Rende il mio sangue nero. _

_E aspetterò la luna di stanotte..._

Men of wealth felt themselves slipping, money their daily requirement and obsession fading into dirt as their souls were released from their bondage and replaced with silk and lace at their will, a choosing of restriction where a man surrenders his mind, his body and his pride to a voice Godly as the sun. If only for a few minutes, these men are poor and beaten, yet euphoric in their splendour.

_Il mio fior bianco è falso, gardenia. _

_Viene alla porta del labirinto. _

_Ti stringerò per sempre _

_Fra le braccia con affetto._

And the audience as equal victims, they succumbed to the crashing rapids of simultaneous heat and chills. Knowing Ophelia contained the power to entrap them with a feminine tone as well as the masculine, no one was immune to the performer. Some believed Ophelia to be a man, 'no woman would adorn a pair of restricted trousers, a man might a dress where he corrupt but as I know a man plays a man, not a woman' spoke some. And while true the singer showed no bosom but the crowd still pondered upon the snow white skin, hairless and feather soft, the long hair would be usually uncouth of a man and the dainty precision of fingertips as Ophelia might hold a wine glass or such a prop. Ophelia was Ophelia...and that was enough. They needed Ophelia's voice to help them forget the trivial world they made and suffered, and they refused to lose this magical voice.

_Dammi un bacio, amor! _

_Per sempre, gardenia..._

Came the abrupt but fitting end to the song, pulling the ever thankful sigh from their lungs and the music slowed and ended. Ophelia's head giving a slight bow, the dark strands moving with the white skin and some coming free from being one of the performers ears. So much charm in the small singer as heats ached to see Ophelia's retreat but the gloved hands of the masses clapped together and cheered in gratification and awe.

They would come again, each and every one of them, some every night and some every week or so, just to feel that same forbidden tug between their legs, the fluttering of stomachs and the heartache of goodbye to the darling Ophelia. Such an addiction applauded in justification, Ophelia would always come back to them, whether Ophelia sang in low or high tones they would fall for talented young thing.

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><p><em>AN: In Episode 3 (i think?) Grell has a beautiful masculine voice but in both the Japanese and English voices he has a certain high pitched edge to his voice when he talks so in this story he will be capable of both a female and male voice. You will have noticed Grell is singing in his human disguise, as this story continues I hope things will become clearer but please bare with me at the moment._

_The song used in this chapter was "La Gardenia" from Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji._

_Hope you enjoyed chapter one, please review it would be very much appreciated._

_x Nova_


	2. The Pretty Man

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews and the favourites, hope you enjoyed chapter one and hope you also enjoy this chapter. Also, because this is a theatre i will have to invent some OCs but they're more for situations than anything else which you will see in future chapters._

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><p><span>The Pretty Man<span>

By Enchantress Nova

A long and well deserved sigh escaped the dark haired performer once behind the curtains and out of view, the applause still bombarding the air and crashing against the old theatre walls, a tremendous noise and Grell was glad to know it wasn't a hollow noise. This establishment was several things, one week the stage might tear out rich men's livers and eat them with the fine words of Shakespeare and then next they might kick up petticoats with the most sultry and fun-filled Cabaret, all talents had a place here and the people who performed them too. During performances or breaks the non-busy performers were more than welcome to sit with clients at the dining area where people could be entertained while they ate.

Grell rarely went out and mingled with the audience, but the few times he did everyone had been staring like they couldn't believe he was real, and while the Shinigami enjoyed the attention, it was still quite unnerving. Members of the public had expressed their adoration for him in flowers and chocolates, some even with fine jewellery, so much so in fact Grell had needed two waiters' help to carry the sudden load back to his room.

Yes, the audience loved him, and in the many fan letters he had received he believed that the dim lives of Londoners were enriched by his performances, but all the same it wasn't the joy he would have thought. Grell wasn't doing this by choice, he _needed _this job.

William was such a stick in the mud, those stoic eyes would pierce Grell's very core before slamming him with another punishment. Grell didn't mean to screw up all the time, it wasn't a crime to be passionate about things, and sure his mind wandered and he forgot to finish paperwork, and yes, maybe he did make sexual advances at passers by...but surely that didn't mean Grell's pay had to suffer so much!

Money, it's such a trivial thing, how millions become slaves to those silly pieces of paper and pretty coins. True Grell didn't need as much as a human did, he just paid for his apartment in the human realm (there were some residential areas in the Shinigami realm for free but after the 'Jack the Ripper' incident no one was exactly enthused to be his neighbour which is why he opted for his own place), after that it was about food and clothing, he had his uniform provided by his work but his makeup and accessories took quite a bit from his savings...he couldn't exactly show he was in a crisis and let everyone know, now could he?

Food. A Death God doesn't need as much as a human, but for the sake of energy and focusing ability it was recommended each person have, if not one, then two meals a day. Grell was lucky to have one meal a week. He was currently running on an old piece of brown bread he ate 10 days ago. As Grell walked the winding halls towards his private room in the theatre his stomach made an audible squeal at the thought of food. Trying to appease his neglected tummy, after closing his room door behind him, he gave the whisper 'this Friday, four days...then I get paid and can get the yummy delicious food I deserve...'

His stomach still being temperamental, but at least a bit quieter, just mumbled in a dull empty ache as Grell set about undressing. The room was modest but much better than those of the other performers whom had to share their spaces bunched in like sardines. The room was...pretty. On the back of the door were hooks where Grell's red Jacket and some other clothes hung, a large cupboard covered one wall half filled with performing costumes and show props strewn about the floor.

That was another part to this job, Grell wasn't just a singer, this was his first week at the job and already the Shinigami had adorned stockings and a corset in a sultry evening of Cabaret, he had read poetry with nothing but a book and a spotlight to hundreds of pleased listeners and shown some very interesting skills in a small but effective circus production. Grell had skills beyond Shinigami, no one he'd met could put both feet behind their head and walk on their hands, or sword swallow lengths unfathomable to the watchers...and of course...his _voice._

When Grell spoke there was a shrill rasp to make him sound just as ferocious as his teeth looked, fiery in personality and in colour...it was deceiving to his softness. Grell had learned quickly after the incident at the Phantomhive Manor that his voice was easily manipulated; by adding pressure to his vocal chords correctly Grell had the full range of masculine notes. Until Grell took this job at the theatre, that had been the only time Grell had sung, sure he had chimed melodically to add a sexy effect to his words sometimes but for the first time Grell had sang and people were gobsmacked. Grell had practiced and toyed with his voice a little, soon learning he had a much larger range than even that, Grell could truly appear a woman, he could hit the notes.

Grell had felt such happiness when he mastered his womanly voice, singing and warbling, soaring through the air his voice like a dove flying strong but loving to all ears that were blessed enough to hear it. The reaction from the audience had been overwhelming, Grell felt touched by their adoration or faithfulness to him and his talents, and it ensured one very special thing to the Shinigami...paycuts would not be a problem.

This was a job Grell could actually _do,_ there was no paperwork to complete and file, no boss (however hot he may be) yelling orders for him to pick up the pace or just proclaiming his annoyance at the reaper's 'shenanigans.' Grell loved performing and he couldn't understand why felt so down over it, maybe once he had eaten something he'd be feeling better, 'Yes, that's it...I'm just feeling low because I've not got much energy'.

Grell took a few steps away from the door and came to a stand in front of the vanity, a huge mirror stood before him on the wall, the desk low so he could see everything down to most of his thighs. Having just performed as a 'man' he wasn't wearing what he liked, but the Shinigami was glad to see even in such attire he was still considered at least 'pretty.' Grell began undressing by undoing shirt buttons, untying the bow on his back until the complex thing finally removed itself from his person.

The mirror seemed to glow at the sight the Reaper's pale skin, lean muscles framed the small body well but the softness of Grell's skin and the womanly curve of the waist to the hips still deceived the eye even when faced with flat pectoral muscle. The shoulders were womanly too, slender arms and dainty hands with long nails painted crimson, it was then Grell realised he was still in his human disguise.

The bland dark hair still tied back in a ribbon, pulled back from his face; it really wasn't his favourite look. But in order to make sure the other Reaper's didn't find out, Grell couldn't be recognised, posters advertising performances were hung all over London and he couldn't risk anything going wrong.

There was a rule against moonlighting, taking a second job was strictly forbidden as it could add stress to a Shinigami so that their first job may suffer, and paper work and such to even get a second job could be risky as Shinigami weren't registered citizens and other similar reasons. If Grell was found out he'd be forced to quit and endure some unpaid overtime.

This job had been a Godsend, to paper work was needed, Grell could wear dresses some nights and there wasn't a 'uniform' to speak of, Grell was never yelled at or told he was useless and the money was great! He just had to make it to Friday without any trouble and he'd be eating better, he could manage to worry a bit less, _'just four more days'. _

Grell then removed the black trousers feeling a relief in the exposure, his legs were always wrapped in so much fabric, and how he longed to wear a skirt each day, in the summer he felt ready to beg for such a liberty. But then Grell would look down, he'd see that bulge beneath the lacy underwear and feel quite distant even from his own body.

He loved the pleasure, often came the time when thinking of red eyed demons or mysterious morticians that the Shinigami would treat himself to some 'special' time alone. But the action of pleasuring himself in that way, it just...it reminded him of just how _male_ he was. And he certainly didn't like that.

There came a small knock at the room door, Grell being in just his underwear and with a ribbon in his hair quickly reached for his favourite robe, a red silk one which stopped half way down his thigh, and opened the door to one of his fellow performers.

Her name was Christine, she was a sweet girl with a decent voice and a dance routine to knock your socks off, the two had been friendly with each other and so these visits were no surprise. With a smile Grell stood to the side and let in the girl, Christine was taller than Grell by a couple of inches, she had light brown wavy hair that stopped just shy of her shoulders and had a slim build with tanned skin. Whether she did Cabaret or not, she had the look of a girl you'd be relieved to take home and show your mother.

"I'm sorry, I know you're finished for the day but I've got a terrible cough" struggled out Christine, she clearly was quite unwell as Grell gestured for her to sit on the Vanity chair and he searched the drawers.

That was another thing about this place, in just a few days time Grell had taken the place of 'mother hen' or 'big sister' to a number of the girls, Grell was happy to help them with anything that they needed be it advice, a small favour or even just to lend an ear. Grell rummaged through two of the vanity drawers before finally gripping his long fingers around a bottle of couch medicine.

Not having a spoon to pour out a decent dosage, Grell simply filled the lid of the bottle and handed that to the girl, Christine gave a small bow of the head before taking the lid and taking the medicine in one swig, a strong grimace invading her features as the taste exploded about her taste buds.

Some small banter and some short goodbyes later, Christine left to dance in the late night show and Grell returned to undressing. The robe was placed over the back of the vanity chair as once again Grell stood in front of the mirror. The brown tresses boring him as they always did but Grell didn't change them as he would surely walk past performers during his exit. But with no more performances lined up for the night Grell took the time to slowly run his hands up his arms, feeling the well toned muscles and womanly soft skin, disapprovingly over the flat panels of his chest and gliding ever to beautifully over the small taught stomach and finally resting the elegant hands on the feminine hips.

The Shinigami could have stared at himself for hours, sometimes he did, just wondering what it would be like to have an extra curve here or no so much muscle there and such, but he was exceptionally tired and so quickly removed any stage makeup and dressed himself in his normal attire for reaping only with the scarlet coat fastened completely shut.

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><p>'<em>Ronald sure is a sweet heart...'<em> Grell thought as the rookie Shinigami brought him a cup of tea since the red head appeared 'slightly down' which Grell had found so gentlemanly. The blonde reaper certainly was a catch, that boyish smile and happy-faced charm; not to mention how Ronald seemed to look up to, nay, _admire _Grell. The blonde often referred to Grell as 'Senpai', a true expression of respect which no one else in the offices seemed to receive.

But however sweet, he and Grell were always just going to be friends...firstly, Ronald was definitely interested in women and seemed thoroughly content with that arrangement and secondly, Grell liked men who took charge and made Grell feel protected by large manly arms. Ronald would always see Grell in some way as his superior; the boy's will was easily influenced by whatever Grell wanted him to do.

This didn't sadden or disappoint Grell at all; he was simply making the observation as gently sips of tea helped to warm his neglected tummy. _'When I get my pay cheque I'm treating Ronnie to a meal...' _Grell decided as he watched Ronald speaking to receptionists about anything other than work.

Grell became even more thankful for the cup of tea when he realised how sleepy he was, eye lids drooping and focus blurring, the tea was gently reigning in his mind to finish another work day. But no matter the amount of caffeine Grell consumed his mind drifted as it always did, not thirty seconds after Grell moved his gaze from Ronald to his paperwork was Grell's mind taken over again.

Before paperwork was distributed to the Shinigami it went through Mr William T Spears, the man was so professional in everything he did, every line that didn't necessarily required to be done by the lower workers William seemed to fill out for Grell and a number of the rookies. It was well known that Grell hardly ever did his paperwork, but...did Will think Grell was like a rookie? That in all of his years working with the Shinigami, talking literally centauries, that he hadn't learned _anything?_

The thought had never really occurred to Grell before, he had always found it a relief to not need to write out every line and often the red head commented on William's "favouritism" but the stoic boss always replied along the lines that 'it was the only way to guarantee half of the paperwork would be done correctly.' Now Grell was thinking that might be true...

"Sutcliff" came the clipped reply from the very man Grell had been wondering about, grabbing the red head's attention from the boss' neat handwriting as he looked up to those cold green eyes. Strangely, there was no further scolding, normally William would immediately state everything Grell was doing wrong, the 'insistent daydreaming', the 'unsightly red ink' and a regular word on his 'disgraceful state of uniform.' But there was _nothing._

William, seemingly satisfied with Grell simply being out of his daydreaming, took his leave to some of the other offices. Grell should have been relieved, there had been no yelling, no beating, he had gotten off scot free. It was in light of his previous thoughts, Grell suddenly found a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach that was much more than hunger; _had William given up on him?_

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><p>It was strange.<p>

It wasn't often William Spears was surprised, but in a split second the hard working boss had indeed felt confused. Mr Sutcliff's behaviour was always a mystery; the constant flirting, his referring to himself as 'female', his complete disregard to the uniform policies. The man was Jack the Ripper for god's sake...but...

Just moments ago, when Spears had seen Grell's stilled hand and distant gaze he had automatically spoke to bring Grell from his own colourful mind, it was Grell's reaction which had raised a small alarm. No flinch, no smile and no flirting. Grell had simply looked up expectantly, waiting for a row and some lecture; there had been no emotion in his eyes: he just looked _bored._

Grell was never _bored._

He could be irritable, whiny, restless, even distant or unimpressed but, no, never bored.

The more Spears thought about the red head's strange behaviour the more it worried him, there was a nagging at the back of his head that this was the 'calm before the storm' and he could only hope nothing like the Whitechapel murders would occur again.

'_Maybe this is a good thing...'_ Spears thought _'...maybe Sutcliff's annoying hyper behaviour had disappeared and the district could actually have a normal office like all the others, not so many fuck ups and overtime...'_

There was no rest to Spears' thoughts as there was a knock on his office door and the man took stock of himself, it was only then Spears realised he was leaning on his desk, slouching with his brows furrowed. Sure, it was nothing near as dramatic as Grell's appearance but it was certainly nothing that could be seen of the manager.

The black lad man stood straight and sighed before allowing the worker into the room, doing his work without relish as the wheels in his head continued to spin erratically. _'Sutcliff...even when he's behaving he gives me stress...'_

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><p><em>Yay, chapter 2 finished X3 <em>

_Well there was some Ronald and some William in this chapter too, for anyone who was wondering Grell's 'boredom' was actually fatigue and hopefully the story will be taking better shape soon as at the moment I'm just getting the groundwork done _

_Pretty please review! As my first Kuroshitsuji fanfic i'm worried in case I'm messing it up without knowing._


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